Page 64 of Steel & Surrender

Her mother gave a soft snort, lowering her sewing project, her frank gaze fastening on Brìghde. “Well, that’s quite a greeting, isn’t it? We were beginning to worry.”

“It was a long day,” Brìghde replied with a sigh. “But we made it.”

Her father’s mouth curved into a smile. “Maclean’s a tough bastard.”

“He is,” she replied, sinking down onto a stool next to the hearth. All she wanted to do was crawl into her cot and pull the covers overhead. But she wouldn’t be able to do that yet.

“Go on then,” Eòghan said, eyes shining as he leaned forward eagerly. “Tell us of the day.”

Brìghde’s belly hardened. Christ’s blood. She just wanted to forget it.

However, her family wanted a tale, and so she would give them one.

She told them of the terrain they’d traveled to reach the summit. Her father appreciated such details especially. The world was dark to him these days, but he remembered his trip to Ben More with her, and as she explained how the ground had changed from grassland to boggy patches and then rougher, stonier foothills, his features softened as if he too was lost in the memories.

She told them how she’d challenged Greig to a race to the top and how they’d tied. She informed her mother of how much Greig had enjoyed the meal, of his thanks, and her mother glowed with pride.

Of course, she left the part about the kiss out—and everything else that had happened afterward.

Jumping forward to the descent, she recounted how many times they’d both nearly tumbled down the slope. Greig’s thigh was weak and tired, yet she too had struggled. There had been times when her legs had trembled under her.

“Ye did well helping the clan-chief’s son, lass,” her father said when she ended the tale. “However, I hope this is the end of those hill walks.” Breac was still smiling, yet his voice held an edge.

Brìghde stiffened. “Why’s that, Da?”

“Folk notice things,” he replied. “And they don’t always speak kindly of what they see.”

Eòghan’s brow furrowed at this statement, although their mother nodded, her gaze shadowing a little.

Brìghde’s breathing grew shallow.

He was right, of course—and today had proved it. If she hadn’t been spending so much time alone with Greig, things wouldn’t have spiraled. He wouldn’t have kissed her.

The truth was she was his servant, and he, her better.

That was the way things were supposed to be.

He knew it, and so did she.

And so did her father.

“Aye, well, don’t fear … there will be no more excursions,” she replied, her tone clipped now. “And he won’t be visiting the forge to train for the Games from now on either.”

Her throat constricted then.

All the way home, she’d wondered when Greig would bring it up. And as they rode toward the home fires of Duart, he’d reined Tàirneanach in next to her.

“I know we planned to train twice a week until the Games,” he’d said gruffly, breaking the long, tense silence between them. “But given the circumstances, I don’t think that’s wise, do ye?”

Her temper had flared hot then. She’d wanted to bite his head off.

How dare he act as if he were protecting her—as if this wasn’t a slight?

He made himself sound so considerate, like he cared about her reputation. However, the truth of it was that he cared more about his own. It wouldn’t do for the folk of Duart to think he was swiving the Forge Maiden.

The humiliation of it.

Clearly, he’d been kicking himself all the way home.